


Begin to breathe

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Dreamscapes, Found Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Sentient Nature, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: And the wind is urgent, and the wind whispers what do you say? And the words speak.Childermass, Vinculus, and the letters that want to be read.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Begin to breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chauntlucet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chauntlucet/gifts).



_The light_  
_Begin to bleed,_  
_Begin to breathe,_  
_Begin to speak._  
_D'you know what?_  
_I love you better now._

_I am falling_  
_Like a stone,_  
_Like a storm,_  
_Being born again_  
_Into the sweet morning fog._  
_D'you know what?_  
_I love you better now._

Kate Bush: [The morning fog](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymgD5YkPHu4).

*

He falls, like a stone, like a storm. He wakes, from a dark dream. Dark like ink, seeping out from him like blood, like something that hurts him. Like something that wants his heart.

He can't open his eyes. But he sees the trees. And he sees the sky. He feels like he's been drowning. He feels like he's been gone.

No, he hasn't called out, he thinks. Or maybe he has. Maybe he is calling out to the sky. Maybe he is calling out, without words. But it doesn't matter. Childermass is there anyway, with his cards and his pipe and his silence. And he is here too, for another night. Somehow, he finds it oddly comforting, oddly right. Right like this ink, read and retraced. Like these words, born again, and bright with new meaning.

His eyes are closed, but he can still see the letters. Almost on fire. Waiting.

He feels the trees. He feels the sky. And he bleeds. He breathes in. He speaks. The letters within him are sharp. Maybe they want to be read. And maybe, he wants to be seen.

And the wind is urgent, and the wind whispers _what do you say?_ And the words speak. The words stop the storm within him. And the cool air is like a lullaby, like a tender touch. And the birds settle their wings and sleep, and it's alright. It's alright now.

The magic rises like the morning fog, like the black feathers. And he greets it within his heart. And he might say _I love you better now_.

But he shouldn't speak of these things. So he doesn't.

They sit together, under the sky, as the day breaks. And they read the dreams and the secrets in the smoke and in the cards. The words huddle, warm and close to his heart. The letters shine upon him, like an understanding, like light. And he is silent, like the sky.


End file.
